


In Perspective

by HotMolasses



Series: Perspectives [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Established Relationship, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut, that's all this is folks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-10-13 16:14:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17491184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HotMolasses/pseuds/HotMolasses
Summary: It is a pleasant thing to listen to Will’s voice moan my name while I penetrate him with my tongue.  I can feel the sweat forming on his thighs as he keeps them pressed to the sides of my head, wanting to keep me close and shut me out equally, a brilliant mind reduced to the mercies of its primal body, overwhelmed by sensation, drowning out thought.  The same effect is happening to me, and though before Will I had never once felt the need to stroke myself in another’s company, with him it is a desperate urge that I cannot ignore.





	In Perspective

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all! It's been a long time since I've been able to write. It feels so good to be able to post again! I've missed all of you and it feels SO GREAT to be able to share Hannigram smut again.
> 
> My tumblr was shadowbanned during The Purge, so please come join me at my new one at [snazzymolasses.tumblr.com](https://snazzymolasses.tumblr.com/). I always answer every ask so please drop me one! Drabble prompts always appreciated.

              Will sits in a relaxed pose, resting his elbow against the arm of the leather chesterfield while he turns the page of his book.  He holds the pages open firmly with one hand while the other reaches for his glass of wine, taking a slow, savoring sip that he keeps in his mouth, holding it until the glass is set back upon the coaster and his hand returns to the book.  His larynx bobs as he swallows, and my attention is drawn to his tongue as it slips out to lick the flavor from his lips.  He has done nothing out of the ordinary in this moment, and yet I can feel my cheeks grow warm the way my schoolmates described when they spoke of their crushes. 

              It is not an entirely new sensation for me, as we have lived in each other’s company for over a year now.  Yet it is still novel; drawing both my surprise and delight into a pointed thought at how this man has so thoroughly altered the way I perceive myself.

              “I can feel your eyes burning through my skin.  Are you going to proposition me, or are you going to pine until sunrise?”

              He doesn’t take his eyes from the page when he says it.  The sharpness of his tongue gives me a glimpse into his keenly observant mind, and my blood grows even warmer as I am reminded of how utterly attracted I am to that mind, and to the body that houses it.

              I doubt I could be patient another hour, let alone until sunrise.

              “I would enjoy your company in the bedroom this evening, yes.”

              The phrase is direct and truthful, two things that I am still greatly unaccustomed to in my daily speech, despite his drawing such admissions from me regularly.  I already feel a sense of vulnerability, so when he lifts his eyes from the page they pierce deeper into me than I was prepared for.  My heart gives a leap of excitement, and then his gaze is gone as he rises to his feet.

              I follow him to our bedroom, our walk up the staircase not a routine one, as we rarely turn in together unless our intent is to be in each other’s company.  He doesn’t pause at the threshold, and my eagerness is embarrassingly apparent as I close the door much too loudly. 

              He turns, and I cannot keep my eyes from wandering over him.  His face is beauty incarnate, two-day-old stubble unable to dampen the loveliness of his features.  The line of his jaw draws up to his elegant scar, sewn expertly by my own hand so that it formed in a perfect curve, devoid of the remnants of any stitches.

              As I take in the sight of his face it draws nearer, and I am still in awe at the reminder that he longs to be near me as much as I to him.  Now he is too close for me to see all of him, and so my gaze seeks out his own, our eyes meeting a second before our lips.

              His taste overwhelms my senses and all of my being seeks to draw him near.  I lift one arm to wrap firmly behind his back as my other hand caresses his cheek, slipping behind his neck to keep his lips close to mine.  It is a redundant maneuver however, as he presses into me with his own desire for our closeness.  The tongue that I had watched lick the wine is now licking my lips, drawing along them to take in my flavor, leaving his taste behind for me.  We eagerly consume each other, both giving soft moans as we seek to devour.  His palms press flat to my chest and then slide up, finding their way in the little space between us to begin undoing my tie. 

              I am eager to assist him and my fingers slip into the knot, yanking it free from my neck.  We work together to unbutton my waistcoat, followed by my shirt, then his.  Our uncovered skin brushes together as hurrying fingers rush to unclasp and unbutton, until we are bare and crawling atop the bed, the breaks in our kisses given only from necessity, short-lived and eagerly ended.

              My fingers cannot help themselves from seeking out every inch of him.  I brush them along his cheek, then jaw, then down his neck, tracing his clavicle down to his sternum.  I am torn between my desires to look and to taste, the limitations of my own senses frustrating as I cannot choose.  My lips press themselves beneath his chin and I hungrily kiss my way down his throat.  My tongue emerges, eager for a taste of him.  The scent of his skin pours into my lungs as his flavor teases my lips, always an appetizer, never a meal.

              Oh, but to taste him daily is worth the sacrifice of never getting to sink my teeth in fully.  I draw my tongue lower to lick over his nipple and am rewarded by the sharp intake of his breath and the tightening of his fingers in my hair.  The taste of it is exquisite, exactly as I have planned with my carefully charted meals of the previous week, and yet that sensation becomes secondary to the soft moan that his voice makes so close to my ear.

              There are two ways I might lick him here; the first will give me the greatest sensation of flavor, the second will give him greater pleasure.  I choose the latter without thought, discarding my own desires simply to hear his sharp inhales and shuddered breaths, to watch his knees bend and his hips cant upwards.  I have been with many lovers and have seen all types of bodily responses to stimulation, and yet his somehow captivate my attention more than they should warrant.  I close my lips and suck.

              “Haa…aaa….ahhh…”

              He can’t even finish my name, and it makes my heartbeat irrationally increase.  I seek more of it, my fingers caressing his stomach, ignoring the scar there that does not have as fond of a memory associated with it as the one on his cheek.  I feel the warmth of his erection brush the back of my hand, leaving a thin line of wetness across it.  That alone nearly has my resolve undone, but when he gasps and arches his back, I am overcome.  My hand wraps firmly around him, my tongue following quickly to trail over his stomach and taste his essence.

              The moment my tongue is upon him he gives a high-pitched, quiet squeak.  I cannot deny him, nor myself, and so I take him deeply into my mouth, dragging my tongue along every part of his hardness to capture his flavor.  Oh, how many times I have drank from this fountain of ecstasy, the life of my beloved pouring down my throat as I swallow him into myself, the only part of him I may consume without consequence.  I long for that now and my mouth works towards that goal, my ears listening to every hitch in his breath to chase what he finds most pleasurable.

              “Han…han…han…” he attempts to speak, and I glow from the idea that he cannot.  I hungrily take him down into my throat, yearning for his flavor, when I feel the fingers that are tangled in my hair tighten painfully and roughly pull my head back.

              I reluctantly let his flesh slide from my mouth and raise my head enough to see him.  His chest heaves with hastened breaths, his face obstructed by the hairs that have fallen into my eyes, my concern for personal hygiene long abandoned.  I wait for him to speak.

              “Do you want this over so quickly?” he says, and all my years of schooling, of training, of practiced speech and behavioral perfection are useless.  Not one of them stands between he and I to hold back the truth, and so that is what springs to my lips- raw, uncultured, and untamed truth.

              “I couldn’t help myself.  Your taste is intoxicating.”

              He gives one short, deep, laugh, not because he finds the statement humorous, but because he meets it with utter disbelief.  He is as unprepared and as unguarded for this as I am, unable to believe that anyone can be so enamored with him.

              We are still for a moment, my body curled halfway down his naked form, disheveled hair hanging in my face, caught with my hand in the cookie jar almost having spoiled my dinner.

              His fingers release my hair and slide down to caress my cheek.  My eyes close of their own accord and I lean my face into his touch, until I smell him and am unable to resist, turning my lips to kiss along his palm.

              “Here.” he says, opening his knees wide, making it quite clear where ‘here’ is intended to mean. My heart races as my cheeks burn anew.  I turn my face to kiss my way across his hip, taking in every inch, every flavor, every morsel as I work my way down his thigh.  The scent of him is thick between his leg and scrotum and I chase it, eliciting a sharp gasp from him as I tease one testicle with my tongue.  I cannot resist sucking it into my mouth and I feel him shiver, his fingers immediately returning to clasp in my hair, his grasp tight from sensation and most likely a bit of fear.

              It has never been explicitly stated between us that I will never take a taste of his flesh; and while he must trust me enough to allow my mouth near his most tender regions, I cannot blame him for his primal flash of doubt.  The reminder that he knows what I am, knows to the utter depths of truth all of my proclivities, and still allows me to taste his flesh so intimately sends a new wave of heat through my body, and dare I say, joy.

              I let him slip from my mouth unharmed and unscathed, his chest heaving, body panting as I lick my way down to his rectum.  The taste of him is powerful here and I close my eyes to savor it, unable to keep a smile from trying to emerge at how he jumps from the first touch.  I press long, deep licks to him, stimulating his flesh to open his blood vessels and bring sensitivity to it.  He groans and his fingers move to stroke through my hair, and I am warm through all my extremities, the heat pooling between my legs to make my phallus swell.

              It is a pleasant thing to listen to Will’s voice moan my name while I penetrate him with my tongue.  I can feel the sweat forming on his thighs as he keeps them pressed to the sides of my head, wanting to keep me close and shut me out equally, a brilliant mind reduced to the mercies of its primal body, overwhelmed by sensation, drowning out thought.  The same effect is happening to me, and though before Will I had never once felt the need to stroke myself in another’s company, with him it is a desperate urge that I cannot ignore.

              “Yes.” he whispers when he sees my hand come to my length.  His legs open wide now, the heat of his lust parting them willingly, aching for my presence.  I stroke myself and begin to spread my leaking semen down my length, closing my eyes as the stimulation sends messages of pleasure to my brain.

              With my previous male partners I had always taken care to be particularly gentle and sultry, as my goals were seduction and manipulation.  With Will, however, he is here because of no other reason than desire to be with me, and so I can afford to be impatient as I push a finger into him beside my tongue, not concerning myself with whether it burns him from being not moist enough.  His voice hitches as I feel him clench, but he does not move away from me and so I do not relent.  I allow my tongue to moisten my finger as I slide it in and out of him, enjoying all too much that I can be rough with him and knowing it will not deter him from his desire to be with me.  My heartrate increases with the knowledge that he wants me, wants this, and his soft groaning as the sting fades into pleasure goes to my head faster than I’d like.

                I continue to stroke my length, preparing myself to enter him as I ready him to be entered.  Both my hands and tongue are fully busy, all of my body and the full amount of my attention focused on this singular task.  Will once told me my mind was such that it always had many trains of thought going at all times, and I thought the assessment accurate.  Now, if that is true they are all running along the same rails to a singular destination, and I can think of nothing but Will and my desire for us to mutually seek pleasure from each other.

              I continue to stroke myself until my length is fully coated with pre-ejaculate, spreading it eagerly with my fingers to make myself ready to join my flesh to Will.  Anticipation makes me swell to full hardness, and my head and blood swim with desire.

              I raise my head, taking in the view of him as I come to a kneeling position.  His body is flushed, pink spreading from his ears and down his neck, coloring all of him to show his heat and desire.  His erection is fully swollen, purple and leaking as his hand strokes over it slowly, not wanting to bring himself to orgasm but unable to refrain from touching himself.  His eyes are closed at first but then open, his lashes gorgeous to behold as thin slits of blue appear under them to gaze at me with longing and need.

               I shift so that the warmth of Will’s ass is pressed firmly to my inner thighs.  He drapes his legs over mine shamelessly, his gaze raking over my body as his chest heaves with want.  I reach for the bottle of oil- kept in a bath of warm water beside the bed for ultimate comfort- and begin to pour it generously over Will’s thighs like a marinade.  My eyes cannot keep themselves from following the slick drops as they pour over his skin, and I am unaware of my tongue protruding to lick my lips until he points it out to me.

              “Thinking of what recipes I’d go well with?”

              His tone is mischievous, teasing.  My heckles internally rise for a moment as the natural response to protect my secret rears itself, but I push it away quickly, unwanted.

              “I would make an olive-oil based marinade, the meat steeped in juices for 8 hours chilled, followed by two hours warming on the counter before basting periodically during roasting.”

              My mouth waters at the idea, and I close my eyes, pressing my fingers deeply into Will’s warmth as I imagine tasting his flesh upon my table.  In my fantasy he is also sitting at my table with me, his knife slowly cutting through the tender and perfectly prepared meat with a loving gaze in his eyes.  He closes them as he tastes himself, savoring the flavor on his tongue as he chews, and I am overcome with lust.

              “I felt that.” he says, the burgeoning tip of my phallus swelling uncontrollably against his thigh from my thoughts.  “Let me feel it more fully.”

              I can no longer be patient.  I pour the oil over my swollen head and spread it quickly down my length.  I press forward, driven more by desire than by thought, setting the bottle down in the bucket with an unceremonious splash.  I penetrate him and I am overcome by lust as his heat surrounds me, squeezing me in the most delectable way.  My hands grip his thighs and draw him closer to me as my hips push forward.  I push into him more roughly than I ever would dare with my previous partners- but Will is more than a simple sexual partner.  He is my lover, and his hands reach for my hips, pulling me into him with desire to match my own, both of us equally wanting and eager.

              I slowly start to rock, pushing my way in slightly further with each thrust, the pleasure of it making me swell and lose myself.  I hear my voice giving soft groans and I cannot care enough to force it to stop.  I realize my eyes are closed and that will not do; I must take in all of his beauty, I must see him as much as I feel him and smell him.  I force them open and the sight of his body overwhelms me with its radiance.  His eyelashes flutter against his face and his cheeks are flushed pink, his soft curls spread haphazardly about his face in a manner that makes me _need_.

              I pull back and thrust.

              “Oh, _fuck_.” he says, his outburst describing the rush of pleasure I feel with precision.  I have little self-control now and chase the feeling with another thrust and another, need and heat springing through me as I watch him spread his legs further, one hand gripping his erection and the other tightening in the sheets.  His heels press hard against my back as his legs pull me deeper into his body.  His eagerness does nothing but inflame my own and I raise to my knees and place my palms on the bed beside him, pounding into him until my body sings and his voice echoes that song with his moans.

              “Fuck, Hannibal, yes, yes, _fuck_.”

              “Will.” I whisper, all other language lost to me.  I have forgotten all my social graces, every ounce of my upbringing, and care only to gaze at his glorious face as I feel his body welcome me, teasing me, relentless and tantalizing.  I cannot bear to be so far from him, and I sink my chest to rest upon his, feeling the heat of his flesh press to mine.  He clings to me, his arms leaving their previous tasks to wrap around my back and pull me close.  My face presses into his neck and I breathe in his scent, my lips seeking to suck his skin without my saying so.  I have little control over my own body now; he has taken it all from me.  My thoughts and speech and motions now no longer belong to myself; they are all his, every part of me.  I can no longer hide my desire, my _need_ for him.

              I pound into him with no more grace than an animal.  That is what he has reduced me to- or rather, what he has forced me to show upon the surface.  All of my carefully constructed mannerisms fall away, exposed for the facades they are, leaving me with nothing but the utter truth of what I am.  He causes me to reveal everything I work so diligently to disguise, everything I strive to keep hidden from the world so that I am not discovered.  He makes me show how much I desire him, my body straining to be with him until my skin sweats and my muscles ache, despite my desire to hide these feelings from the world and from myself.  He makes me declare what I am, who I am, and I have no power to refute him at all.  He makes me betray myself.

              “I need you, Will.  Never part from me.”

              “I could never leave you.” he whispers in return.

              We say nothing else, as our breaths become heavy while our bodies seek to maximize their pleasure.  My orgasm begins to build and I am eager for it, chasing it in a manner that I have never done except for in Will’s company, unable to stave it off or want to make it last.  I shudder as it overcomes me, a soft squeak escaping my lips that does not sound like me at all, and is more myself than I can imagine.  Waves and waves of ecstasy pulse through me as I pour myself into him, thick, heavy pangs that erase even the simplest of my thoughts, leaving me with only one word I can manage.

              “Will, Will, Will…”

              His arms are tight across my back as he holds me.  The intensity fades as my orgasm ends, and within seconds I am back to my senses enough to desire one thing.  I pull quickly out of him and he winces, but I ignore it and drag my lips down to suck his length into my mouth.  My lips press hard over his head and my tongue flicks over his slit, drinking in his now copious pre-ejaculate.  He whines heavily and I take him down fully a mere three times before he is releasing into my mouth, his glorious essence pouring down my throat as I savor and swallow every drop.

              He gives a sharp gasp and his fingers wrap in my hair to yank my head away from him.  I smack my lips and he rolls his eyes affectionately as I crawl back up his body to lay beside him, where we tangle ourselves in each other’s arms and I stroke my fingers through his hair.

              His eyes flutter open and closed several times, and I listen to each of his breaths as they slowly return to a normal pace.  I can feel them brush across my neck as he exhales from his nose, and my eyes fall to his lips, still slightly parted.  I have drank from him fully and yet my desire to taste is not sated.  I lower my lips to kiss him and he welcomes me, giving a soft groan as he parts his lips and his tongue seeks the heat of my mouth.  There is no experience in my life that can compare to a post-coital kiss from Will Graham, lazy and sated and yet still full of heat and passion, neither of us caring to put up our usual barriers. 

              We part far enough to see each other’s eyes and I continue to stroke his hair, the pink in his cheeks so deep that it will be a long time before it fades.

              “I keep thinking I’m getting used to this, and then you remind me that I’m not.”

              “I’m the reminder?”

              He gives a soft, silent laugh, his lips spreading into a bright smile that I can hardly believe is meant for me. 

              “I think we’re both in over our heads.”

              “I concur fully.”

              That is all the conversation needed, and we hold each other until I feel him drift off to sleep.  I reach down and pull the covers over us, the bed and our bodies a disastrous mess and yet I cannot care.  It is a mess reminiscent of our murders; bodily fluids surrounding us in the aftermath of our mutual pleasure, and in the comfort of that thought I let myself drift off to sleep, heart and body laid naked and bare, vulnerable and yet free in the arms of Will Graham.

 

**Author's Note:**

> A companion piece to this story has now been added: ["Another Perspective"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18055892). It's the same moment as this one, but told from Will's point of view. Please go read and let me know what you think!


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